


How Sweet it is to be Loved by You

by SqueezeBabe



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bodice-Ripper, Fantasy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 15:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14500077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueezeBabe/pseuds/SqueezeBabe
Summary: Young Nobleman Jean-Jacques Leroy is captured by bandits and sold to House Giacometti as a slave.Working in the molasses mines, young Jean learns a lot more about sugar than what he anticipated.





	How Sweet it is to be Loved by You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for bing #3 where the prompts were Tap/Molasses and the genres were Fantasy/Romance. Because I can't be trusted, I managed to incorporate all four into a ficlet.
> 
> A huge thank you once again to Nothing_Tea for drawing me cute art to go with it even though they weren't part of my team.
> 
> Art can be found [here](http://martianpotato-and.tumblr.com/post/173479671128/how-sweet-it-is-to-be-loved-by-you-by-squeezebabe) (and yes, it's a bit spoilery, but I thought that I'd have this finished, but it's run away with me!)

Jean-Jacques Leroy didn’t know what was worse. Standing on the slave block, chained, naked and on display like a prize bull at market, or the series of events that had led to this moment. 

He closed his eyes momentarily, the memory rising up through his thoughts. He’d been out riding with his younger siblings, mostly his sisters; his duty as third son was to keep an eye on them. His two older brothers had been busy with… older brother things. The job of the first son was to get married and take over the family name and holdings. The second son was there in case something happened to the first. The Heir and the Spare. 

Except what should have been a simple ride through the forest had turned into a nightmare. Brigands had come upon them, refusing to be swayed by promises of paid ransom. They were intent on capturing them, rather than killing him, even when he drew his sword and threatened violence. 

He’d managed to hold them off long enough for his siblings to escape, taking his horse with them; he knew the way home. When they arrived back at their holdings, they would raise the alarm with their parents and hopefully send help quickly. 

He continued to fight them, holding out for as long as possible. It was obvious that the brigands wanted to tire him out rather than hurt him; they had him surrounded and vastly outnumbered, dancing out of reach of his sword.

His arm was getting heavy, the sweat dripping into his eyes. He’d felt like he’d been fighting for hours, but still no help was forthcoming. His heart sank with each passing moment. The cold hard faces of the brigands just staring at him, waiting for him to collapse. It seemed there would be no rescue for him. 

He swung wildly. Misstepped. A brigand hit him across the back of the head with the pommel of his sword, and he fell into blessed unconsciousness. 

He awoke to a bucket of water being thrown in his face, and harsh angry words being directed at him. 

He blinked a few times, trying to clear the water from his eyes and take stock of his surroundings. He was stripped of most of his clothes and was chained to the chair that he was sitting on. They hadn’t left him with much, just his chausses and undershirt. Of course they would’ve taken his embroidered jacket and sword; they would fetch a decent sum of coin when sold, the sword especially. He gritted his teeth. The sword had been a gift from his father for his 18th birthday. All the Leroy men were gifted swords when they reached their majority, and now, the fine steel was lost, no doubt the spoils for one of the brigands.

Another bucket of water was thrown into his face, the same harsh words repeated. He shook his head slightly, water droplets cascading from the tips of his dark hair. He lifted his head to look at his captors, blue eyes hard with anger. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

He spoke in the soft melodic language of the noble class. He took care to speak the words slowly, part of him hoping that someone could speak it. It was expected that those commoners that had dealings with the noble class would,  _ could _ speak and understand the language. It was unheard of for Nobles to speak the harsh guttural common tongue.

There was raucous laughter. A hand fisted through his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look upwards towards a figure that was approaching. 

The man was heavy set, his face scarred and weathered by age and battle, framed by an unkempt beard. He stopped short of the chair, casting a steely disinterested gaze over his soggy form. 

“I'll make one thing clear. If you cooperate, you'll be sold on with a minimal amount of fuss. No broken bones. If you're lucky, you'll end up as bed warmer in a brothel somewhere. All we are going to do is sell you on to the Overseer. He will be the one who decides who gets to buy you; but your worth decreases if you're damaged. So try not to. If you become worthless then we might as well just kill you now.”

The man had spoken in the language of nobility, but his accent was different. He spoke with more proficiency than commoners usually exhibited, leading him to believe that the man was part of the noble class himself…

“Your name?”

Blue eyes narrowed at the question. “You don't know who I am?”

The brigand shrugged. “It makes no difference. It was the girls we were after, not you. But you'll have to make up for the money we've lost.” The man's gaze hardened, “So your name. Now. Or I will beat it out of you.” He flexed a gloved hand.

The hand that was pulling back his head let him go. He dropped his chin to his chest in resignation. He would have to give up his name; he could only hope that it would allow him some sort of respite. 

“I'm Jean-Jacques Leroy of House Leroy.”

There was a quiet pause, the room suddenly stilling.

Someone swore. 

“That… is unfortunate.” The brigand actually looked embarrassed. 

This could be the lucky break that he was anticipating!

“If you let me go, I promise there will be no retribution…”

The brigand raised his hand, cutting him off. “It’s unfortunate that we didn’t realise who we were attempting to kidnap; we don’t usually chase after the get of nobility. However, what is most unfortunate, for you that is, is that we can’t let you go. We will make it look like you fought valiantly, give them an unrecognisable body to bury; mauled by wild beasts… and they will think you are dead.”

He could feel the blood draining from his face as the brigand continued.

“You will be sold, and we will make sure that you’ll never make your way home to expose us. The Overseer won’t be happy, but he’ll understand. Your nobility will drive up your price and everyone will make a profit. The Overseer will at least attempt to make sure your new master will have your longevity in their best interests.”

He struggled uselessly against his chains, “No! You can’t do this!”

The Brigand shrugged. “I can, and I will.” He nodded to one of men standing behind him.  

The nobleman protested as he was gagged, and a rough hessian sack was placed over his head, blocking his sight and muffling his hearing; he struggled against his chains but to no avail. 

He was their prisoner, and soon to be someone's slave. He was bodily lifted, his body trussed up like a lamb to slaughter, and manhandled into what felt like a cart. He tried to shout against his gag, maybe someone passing by would hear him, but a blow to the back of his head knocked him out, and he remembered nothing further. 

His journey to where he stood on the auction block was uneventful. When he’d woken, he was already in the Overseer’s holding cell, naked and with a splitting headache. The only thing of note was the leaf tattoo on his arm, marking him as property of the Overseer. When he was sold on, there would be a new tattoo to mark his flesh, signifying to whom he belonged. 

The Overseer was bristling with anticipation of his selling price, calling out to the crowd that had gathered. Even if someone recognised who he was and sent word back to his family, by the time they got the message he would be sold, living out the rest of his life with whomever had purchased him. There would be no hope of rescue. 

“Overseer, my good man.” A voice called out from the crowd. His head shot up in surprise. The man in the crowd had called out in the tongue of the nobility.

As quickly as he had reacted to the voice, the Overseer had jabbed him, making him look like he was responding to the provocation rather than the fact he had understood the man in the crowd. “Ah, Goodsir Emil, how pleasant it is to see you!” The Overseer’s voice dripped with obsequiousness, his whole demeanor changing.

The man called Emil just waved his hand at the Overseer; he wasn’t taken in by the change in attitude. “I’ll just let Phichit here inspect the goods, and we will have a deal.” He tilted his head slightly towards the small brown-skinned man next to him who also smiled cheerfully.

The Overseer spluttered slightly, “Of course you would be interested in this fine specimen Goodsir, but the Guild of Companions are also very interested. As you can see, he’s good quality stock. He would be wasted in Messires molasses mine.” 

So those were his options? To warm someone’s bed as a companion, or hard labour in a molasses mine? He didn’t know which he would prefer. To work in a brothel would mean that he would be exposed to all manner of diseases or abuse. At least in the mines he’d just get the black lung, or maybe injure himself… surely he was better than all of this? What terrible thing had he done in his life to end up in this situation? This whole predicament was testing what little resolve he had left.

The nobleman straightened himself. If he was going to meet his end, he would do it standing as a man, not bent like a coward. He knew that he towered over most of the crowd, even the Overseer was no match for his height… except the man he’d called Emil. He could believe that he was even taller, easily a head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, using his height to subtly intimidate the slaver. 

He glared down at the Overseer, refusing to be cowed any longer. The man jabbed him cruelly in the side, hissing that he should show obedience lest no one purchase him… Emil chuckled from his place in the crowd. “Overseer, he seems far too feisty to be a bed warmer, best that I take him off your hands. At least in the mines he can put that spirit to good use! I promise that you’ll be duly compensated.”

He could see the indecision on the Overseer’s face. Just how greedy was the man? There would be no guarantee that the Guild of Companions would pay substantially more than the mine owner… he could see the conflict within the Overseer as he weighed up the options. “I want double the usual fee. I could easily get triple elsewhere, so I’m doing your master a favour.” The Overseer puffed himself up. 

The man Emil folded his arms, “I’ll have to inspect him first. No use taking him if he’s not physically up to the task. That would just be a bad investment.” He nodded to the smaller brown-skinned man again, and this time the Overseer let him up onto the platform. “Phichit here will do the inspection, as always, you’ll get your money and then we will be on our way.”

Phichit just smiled and bobbed his head at the Overseer, before approaching the nobleman. Slim fingers ran up his legs, testing the muscles for weakness and wastage; at least the Overseer had fed him properly and allowed him to exercise in the confined space he was kept in, so he hadn’t lost too much condition from when he was captured. He couldn’t help the blush of shame as the man gently inspected his crotch region; he could understand why it was necessary to check for disease and the like, but he wasn’t being purchased as a bed warmer, was he?

He swore softly under his breath and looked away. The hot flush to his cheeks would fade eventually. As he swore, the hands inspecting him stilled imperceptibly. Had he been heard? The man Phichit finished his inspection of his lower half and began working his way up the nobleman’s body, testing stomach muscles, feeling the strength in his arms, before forcing his mouth open and checking his teeth. 

Satisfied with his inspection, Phichit nodded to Emil who threw a purse at the Overseer, “I think you’ll find the sum in there more than adequate to cover your asking price.” 

And so it was done. Jean-Jacques Leroy of House Leroy was now a slave. 

 

***

 

“I’m telling you my Lord, the new slave understands the noble tongue!” 

Lord Chris waved his hand dismissively. “Sure, all the slaves can understand enough of the noble tongue to get by, I doubt that this one is any different.” He took a sip from his cup as he went through his business reports. “I can see here that you paid extra for him too, on what grounds are you giving away my hard earned coin Emil?”

Emil reached for a sweetmeat from the tray between them, selecting one before popping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully before answering. “You should see him m’lord. He’s long of limb, and rather pleasing to the eye; he definitely has the air of nobility which you wouldn’t expect if he was just a commoner. Speaking of which, he struggles with the common tongue, like someone who wasn’t raised speaking it.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye.  

Chris raised his head, peering at Emil from over the tops of his glasses. “You’re telling me, that this new slave, can’t speak the common tongue? Where did the Overseer say he found him?” 

“Ah! He actually refused to say. Got really cagey when I pressed him for information, muttering something about brigands from the far northern continent.” Emil leaned back into his chair, a smug look on his face. “I’ve heard rumours about one of the Noble families from up there, something about losing a son to a kidnapping attempt. The son apparently died saving his sisters. The family found the body unrecognisable having been eaten away by wild beasts. They were appropriately aggrieved and moved on, apparently third sons are rather expendable; they breed like rabbits, something about not having any appropriate hobbies.” 

Chris snorted at Emil’s crass humour. “So you’re insinuating that we have on our hands, the third son of a northern noble family?”

Emil nodded. “Phichit heard him swear when he was assessing him. Said that his accent was very different to yours or mine, so he’s definitely not from around here. Anyway, you should check him out, I’m sure the main mine is due an inspection from Lord Christophe Giacometti. You’ll get to see him in action, the way he swings the tapper, it’s like poetry in motion, like the stories about the heroes of old.”

Chris rolled his eyes, “Oh shush you. Waxing lyrical about a slave, what are you? One of the Great Poets of fantasy and romance? I’m not paying you to entertain me with tales and sagas, I’m paying you to find me good quality labour so that I can continue running the most profitable molasses mines on this continent. I’m 27 years old this year, almost an old man. I’m looking forward to settling down with a suitable marriage partner, and perhaps breeding a large family of my own.” He looked almost wistful. 

Emil just smiled and reached over to pat him amicably on the shoulder. “Just have a look at him. You never know what kind of strings the hand of fate pulls.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading all the way to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading this. 
> 
> There will be more to come so please stay tuned!
> 
> If you want to yell at me, you can come yell at me on twitter @SqueezeBabe


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